


Tilt Shift

by protostar (variablestar)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Especially Miya Osamu, Everyone Loves Semi Eita, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-05 09:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11575356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variablestar/pseuds/protostar
Summary: It’s just past eight o’clock on a Thursday morning, and they’ve got an hour before either of them has to be anywhere, and when Osamu turns his phone to show Semi the pouting rant Atsumu’s been texting him about Kenma ignoring him, Semi laughs, loud and delighted, and Osamu can’t keep the smile off his face.It’s just past eight o’clock on a Thursday morning, and Osamu figures that, if he had to put a label on it, he’d say he’s something like in love with his best friend.Miya Osamu is something like in love with Semi Eita, and it's nothing more than a pipe dream.  Probably.





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frankenstein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenstein/gifts).



**semisemi eita                     15m**

[1 Image]

_Liked by sugakou, acegoshiki, and 67 others_

**semisemieita** : morning class cancelled, we actually get a proper breakfast

 **sugakou** : you?? could've invited me??? asshole you know i love that cafe

 **tendersatori** : eita!! osamu looks nice!! why can't you dress more like him hm??

 **osaamu** : @sugakou you didn't ask

 **semisemieita** : @tendersatori you can fuck right off

 

[View 4 More Comments]

 

            It’s just past eight o’clock on a Thursday morning, and Osamu’s sipping at his coffee while Semi argues with Tendou over Instagram comments, his bagel half-eaten beside him as they sit tucked in the corner of Semi’s favorite coffee shop. The sun is still low in the sky and everything is soft and hazy, and there’s a certain warmth spreading through Osamu’s chest at the familiarity of it all.

 

            It’s just past eight o’clock on a Thursday morning, and they’ve got an hour before either of them has to be anywhere, and when Osamu turns his phone to show Semi the pouting rant Atsumu’s been texting him about Kenma ignoring him, Semi laughs, loud and delighted, and Osamu can’t keep the smile off his face.

 

            It’s just past eight o’clock on a Thursday morning, and Osamu figures that, if he had to put a label on it, he’d say he’s something like in love with his best friend.

 

* * *

 

 

            “It’d be better if it was raining,” Semi says as they’re walking back to campus. He’s stopped to take a picture of a park bench, that’s got a frame that’s kind of rusted, and a pair of names carved into the wood of the seat. “It would look better.”

 

            “It rained all last week,” Osamu replies. “You lost your chance.”

 

            Semi turns from his camera, where he nearly has a shot lined up, so that he can frown at Osamu. “You didn’t want to come this way last week. You _ruined_ my chance.”

 

            “Because it takes longer and it was pouring. It’ll still look nice either way.”

 

            He’s not sure when this started. Not sure if it was something sudden, that only really hit him over the last few weeks, sometime after Semi came back from class grinning and excited over a professor’s comments on his design project, stealing a hug from Osamu the second he got to the dorm; or if it’s something more gradual, something that’s been slowly taking over his heart since they first met in a shared literature class in Osamu’s first year at University. He just knows that at some point, whether it was sudden or a slow build, he’s reached the point of finding it endearing when Semi turns back to the picture he’s trying to take and his tongue pokes out of his mouth like it always does when he’s really concentrating.

 

            He finds a lot of things about Semi Eita endearing.

 

            “Next time it rains,” he says, once he’s satisfied with his photo, “you’re coming back over here with me. I want a picture.”

 

            “You always want a picture in the rain.” He falls into step beside Semi as he starts walking again, gently bumping his shoulder.

 

            “Because the rain always looks _nice_ ,” Semi counters, bumping Osamu’s shoulder right back. “Practice tonight?”

 

            Osamu nods. “Short one, though. I’ll be around for dinner.”

 

            He reaches for Semi’s jacket sleeve to stop him from entering the crosswalk before either of them have checked that it’s clear. Semi’s always distracted, always looking at the scenery they’ve walked past countless times before or replying to comments and texts. It’s probably unadvisable to let him wander around alone. Which, really, is fine, because Osamu happens to _like_ spending his spare time with Semi, and if Osamu’s not around — if he’s in practice or class or caught helping Atsumu with whatever problem — there’s Shirabu or Kenma or Suga, or one of Semi’s infinite other friends that always like to hang around. Always someone to keep him out of trouble.

 

            Semi looks over his shoulder at Osamu, an amused little half-smile on his face. “Yes?” Osamu just gives him a pointed look, and Semi’s eyes narrow. “I wasn’t going to walk into traffic.”

 

            Osamu raises an eyebrow and glances over at the antique shop he’d been staring at. “You sure about that?”

 

            “‘Course I’m sure,” Semi says, turning back to watch for the light to signal it’s safe to walk. “You’d never let me.”

 

            To that, Osamu huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes. “You’ll never survive on your own. Come on, crosswalk’s clear. I want to get back where it’s warm.”

 

            “Antique shop’s warm,” Semi mutters. Still, he follows Osamu across the street.

 

            “Antique shop will still be there later when it won’t make you late to class.”

 

            Semi backs off then, and they carry on back to their university in a comfortable silence. There’s once when Semi pauses to take a picture of a stoplight, half-hidden by the bright red leaves of a nearby tree, and Osamu doesn’t hesitate to stop and wait for him. He never hesitates with Semi, because Semi never has when it comes to Osamu. From the moment Semi sat next to him in class the year before, it was like he’d already decided on Osamu. He was happy to start up conversations and invite him out regularly after class, and was always quick to respond to anything Osamu had to say. He was friendly and open and shared his shitty kale chips the one morning they both missed breakfast. It’s the first time he can really remember that someone was actually there for _him_. It was always Atsumu getting attention, Atsumu making friends with the people they spent time around, Atsumu that people were there for. Not that Osamu minded this much — he’s always been more quiet, more reserved than his twin. But it’s also been nice to have someone who wants Osamu for Osamu, and not Osamu and Atsumu. Or even better, Osamu _for_ Atsumu.

 

            Semi’s never hesitated, never wavered. So Osamu doesn’t either.

 

            “Hey, ’Samu,” Semi says as they near the building he has his photography class in. He looks over, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a little half-smile, like he already knows Osamu’s going to agree with whatever he’s about to ask. “Oikawa’s still got that shitty bike, right?”

 

            Osamu nods. “Pretty sure Suga dented the wheel beyond repair, but he still has it.”

 

            “Mind asking him when you go to practice if I can borrow it?”

 

            He quirks an eyebrow at Semi. “What for? I’m pretty sure it’s not rideable anymore.”

 

            Semi’s smile widens. “A picture. I want to to back by that bench when we go to the antique shop later.”

 

            “Who said we were going?”

 

            “Who said we weren’t?”

 

            Osamu snorts and shoves at Semi’s shoulder. “Don’t get smart. Bastard.”

 

            “Asshole.”

 

            It’s not like Osamu really knows how to tell Semi _no_ anyway. He knew, realistically, the second they passed the antique shop, he’d be going back with Semi before the week was over. And it’s not like he really minds it. Semi’s always wanting to _go_ and _move_. He gets restless sitting still, anxious when he can’t immediately follow through on whatever idea he’s most recently come up with. It’s gotten Osamu into the habit of wanting to follow, to explore more than he’d see otherwise.

 

            Plus, he kind of really likes antique shops himself. Something about the atmosphere.

 

            “Your room for dinner after practice?” Osamu says when they’re standing outside the classroom Semi needs to be in.

 

            “I’ll order cheap takeout,” Semi tells him. “Good luck at practice.”

 

            “Enjoy your class.”

 

            Osamu gives Semi a final wave before he starts walking off towards his own class, which doesn’t actually start for another half hour. The light is still pale where it falls in through the windows, and Osamu feels warm.

 

* * *

 

 

**semisemieita                      58m**

[1 Image]

_Liked by kingkawa, applepi, and 184 others_

**semisemieita** : @shitabu i’m sorry

 **shitabu** : where are we going to put that. where. you already have eight lamps. tell me where that’s going to go asshole there’s no room in the dorm for this

 **osaamu** : i take it you didn’t tell @shitabu about the bike

 **semisemieita** : @osaamu i trusted you

 **shitabu** : i’m going to murder you

 

[View 18 More Comments]

 

            The thing about Semi Eita is, it isn’t very difficult to fall in love with him. He’s not necessarily the most outgoing. He’s not like Oikawa, who’s always charming, always offering a bright smile to everyone he sees. And he’s not like Atsumu, who somehow always manages to smooth-talk his way into gaining a small crowd of people who hang off his every word. Semi is snarky and gets fussy when it’s too cold, and Osamu once listened to him fighting with Oikawa at two in the morning over the existence of ghosts. But Semi is also one of the most _genuine_ people Osamu can name. He’s _considerate_. He’s witnessed Semi picking Kenma up after a bad day and seen him bake Suga’s favorite sweets to give him after a big exam. And there’s the fact that he laughs like sunshine, that he has an affinity for weird sweaters and misshapen lamps, and that he’s so passionate about everything that he does. He pours himself in to everything and everyone he loves, and Osamu can’t name anyone who hasn’t fallen for him at least a little bit. He’s a quiet, steady force that’s impossible to look away from.

 

            So it’s not really a surprise when someone pulls Semi to the side as they’re walking back from the antique shop, Osamu pushing the broken bike and Semi carrying a new lamp and a bag of assorted pens that probably don’t work anymore, but Semi really liked anyway.

 

            Osamu’s been around before when Semi’s been confessed to and asked out. Usually, it’s people Osamu doesn’t know — people who share classes with Semi or spend enough time in the arts center to know him a decent amount. Sometimes it’s just people who recognize Semi from around campus, who think he’s pretty, who maybe want his number and a date. And while Osamu doesn’t recognize this girl, Semi clearly does, as he greets her with an easy smile and a question about her design project, and Osamu lets himself fall back against the side of a building, far enough away to give them privacy.

 

            He wants to tell himself that it’s nothing. That Semi will turn her down and she’ll understand, and they’ll carry on back to campus while Semi continues asking about Osamu’s day — practice and classes and did he end up meeting with Sakusa for lunch? — and it’ll be fine.

 

            Except, Semi’s cheeks are turning pink and he looks like he might be laughing in the soft way he always does when he’s tired, and Osamu thinks, maybe Semi’s saying yes. Maybe Semi’s going to give her his number and promise to see her for lunch on the weekend, and maybe Osamu’s lost his chance.

 

            If he ever had one in the first place.

 

            He looks away from Semi, looks away from the way his hands are moving in wide gestures as he responds to whatever the girl is saying. He turns to his phone instead, where he’s got another set of messages from Atsumu asking if he knows _why_ Kenma is mad at him (probably, Atsumu was being an asshole, but Osamu doesn’t tell him that), and one from Akaashi to ask about breakfast tomorrow. He ignores that, too. Opens Instagram instead.

 

            Semi’s picture is still at the top of his feed — the lamp he just bought, surrounded by the assortment of old watches it’d been placed next to. There’s a small sliver of Osamu in the mirror behind it, just his hands tucked halfway into his pockets, because he never knows what to do with them otherwise. Osamu’s in a lot of Semi’s pictures; it’s not always his face showing, but there’s always some part of the frame where Osamu’s hands or his shoes or shoulders are. He’s come to think that it’s intentional, that Semi likes having _him_ in the shot, especially because no one else — other than Tendou, when he’s visiting — ever shows up in his photos.

 

            Osamu scrolls past the picture.

 

            It’s a couple minutes before Semi steps in front of him, the barest hint of a smile still on his face.

 

            “Coming?”

 

            Osamu pockets his phone, silently falls into step beside Semi. He tries not to think about how the tips of Semi’s ears are still pink.

 

            He used to not mind this. He used to not think twice about guys stopping Semi in the halls between classes to ask to meet for coffee, or about the girls who would stop him with tinted cheeks and bold confessions. But something’s changed since the start of their friendship, and now it eats away at something inside him. He hates this, hates that he can’t just be _supportive_ and _happy_ for his friend. But Osamu’s too far gone for that, had his hopes too high that maybe there was even the slightest possibility of Semi returning a _fraction_ of his feelings.

 

            He doesn’t say much as they head into Semi’s dorm room. Which, to be fair, is standard. He and Semi aren’t the most talkative people to begin with, and silence is comfortable between them. But this isn’t the same standard silence, not when Semi’s humming as he unlocks the door. He’s happy, and Osamu’s frustrated with himself more than anything over the fact that he can’t be happy with him.

 

            “Think Shirabu’ll notice if I replace his math books with the lamp?” Semi asks, glancing over his shoulder at Osamu, who’s still standing in the doorway.

 

            “I think Shirabu’ll kick your ass out of this fucking dorm if you even try it,” a voice calls from the small bedroom off to the side.

 

            “You weren’t supposed to be back,” Semi responds. He pokes his head into the doorway, says something to his roommate that Osamu doesn’t quite catch as he drops into the chair at the table they’ve got pressed against one wall. _For eating meals, of course,_ Semi had said it was for when Osamu helped him carry it up on move-in day. Only, he can’t remember the last time this table saw food; it’s covered in canvases and messy charcoal sketches, a handful of Shirabu’s math assignments. There’s one of Semi’s more hideous lamps set right in the middle of the mess.

 

            Osamu shuffles some of the papers off to the side to make room for his own homework, which he doesn’t particularly feel like doing, but he has to get through anyway. Semi joins him a minute later, dropping into the chair at the head of the table and sorting through artwork until he finds the sketch he’s looking for.

 

            “I think he likes the lamp,” Semi says, and Osamu pulls a smile because he knows he’s supposed to, even if his heart isn’t really in it.

 

            Semi starts in on cleaning his sketch, and Osamu tries to work through his modern literature notes, but his mind is stuck elsewhere.

 

            It’s not like he was so wrong to think that _maybe_ he had a _tiny_ chance with Semi. When it comes down to it, it’s Osamu he’s always talking to, always coming back to. He spends time with Shirabu and Suga, texts Kenma throughout the day. But he’s figured there could be something to the fact that it’s Osamu he messages first thing in the morning because he can’t remember what a sleeping bag is called and he just had a full dream involving one. It’s Osamu he invites to breakfast and goes to dinner with at the end of the day. Osamu who’s sitting with him at the cramped table in his dorm, their ankles knocking together when Semi shifts, restless as ever.

 

            But then, what good was having that possible chance if he never did anything about it? Even if Semi wasn’t confessed to, would Osamu ever have done anything? He’s let every opportunity pass by. He’s tried, of course. Tried to work up the nerve to tell Semi he’s pretty much in love with him, but the words never came out. He’s long since settled with taking what he can get from his friendship with Semi. He’s settled for how Semi lets him rest his head on his shoulder when they’re waiting in line for coffee in the morning and Osamu’s too tired to function. He’ll take the quiet evenings on the couch with Semi’s feet in his lap and the afternoons following long classes where Semi curls up on Osamu’s bed with his head on Osamu’s thigh as he rants about coursework. He’s okay with the passing touches and the small, private smiles.

 

            It’s just that he wants more. And he’s not going to _get_ more because every single other person at their university has more courage than him. It seems like everyone else can confess to Semi _except_ for Osamu, and it isn’t _fair_ , and it _hurts_. Seeing Semi’s bright grin and flushed cheeks when someone else asks him on a date _hurts_.

 

            “‘Samu?” Semi reaches out to nudge Osamu’s hand, clearly having been trying to get his attention for a while now, and Osamu jerks away. He’s startled, irritated with himself, and he needs to leave. He needs to.

 

            He pushes his chair back and shoves his notes back into his backpack, doing his best to avoid looking over at Semi. “I have to go.”

 

            “I— Are you alright? You just got here—“

 

            “I’m fine,” Osamu insists. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He doesn’t spare him a glance as he makes for the door, wanting more than anything to just be in his own room, to have some space to breathe.

 

            It’s not until later that he thinks Semi almost looked a little hurt when Osamu pulled away from him.

 

* * *

 

 

**semisemieita                      2h**

[2 Images]

_Liked by tendersatori, shitabu, and 316 others_

**semisemieita** : painted and finished

 **acegoshiki** : that looks amazing!!!!!

 **sugakou** : tch what a show-off

 **sugakou** : (it’s beautiful and i hate you)

 **semisemieita** : @sugakou i hate you too dear thank you

 

[View 36 More Comments]

 

            Neither Osamu nor Atsumu have ever been morning people, but Osamu’s always at least made the effort to get up at the sound of his alarm. He’s been the responsible one between the two of them for as long as he can remember. So when Atsumu is shaking him awake on Friday morning, it’s a little off-putting.

 

            “You’re going to be late for class,” Atsumu says. He sounds like he’s barely even awake, which is fair, because as far as Osamu knows, he’s generally sound asleep when Osamu leaves with Semi in the mornings. He pushes at Osamu, sounding increasingly frustrated when Osamu doesn’t so much as roll over.

 

            “What if I didn’t go,” he grumbles into his pillow. Semi’s going to be knocking at the door soon, though. He doesn’t exactly have so much of a choice.

 

            “You haven’t missed a single class in the last year and a half,” Atsumu says.

 

            “Nothing wrong with starting now.” He doesn’t really want to see Semi at the moment. It’s stupid and childish and Osamu knows it, but he doesn’t want to see Semi and the gentle smile reserved for early mornings, doesn’t want to have to act like love isn’t starting to eat him alive.

 

            “Something happen?” Atsumu asks, sounding the barest bit more awake now. He nudges at Osamu again, and Osamu only turns his head so that he can kind of see him from where he’s still got his face half-buried in his pillow. “Class thing? Volleyball thing?” He pauses, contemplating options when Osamu doesn’t respond. “Is it a _Semi_ thing?”

 

            Osamu narrows his eyes and turns away. A mistake, because that couldn’t be more obvious, but whatever. He’s too tired and too irrational to really care for the moment.

 

            “What’d he do?” Atsumu’s voice has taken on a lower tone, something more defensive, something Osamu hasn’t heard from him in a long time.

 

            “He didn’t _do_ anything,” Osamu mutters. “A girl confessed and he probably said yes. It doesn’t matter.”

 

            Atsumu hums, and Osamu hears him walking away from the bed. “If you want to stay in bed, fine, but don’t whine to me later when you’ve got to figure out what you missed in class.”

 

            Osamu maybe grunts in response, but he’s already falling back asleep. Atsumu will probably tell Semi he’s not going when he shows up. It’s fine.

 

* * *

 

 

            He goes to his other two classes that day, but carefully avoids the halls he knows Semi always takes around. He’s got eight messages from him by the end of his last class, which he tries not to read but opens anyway. They range from asking if Osamu’s okay to wondering if Semi did something wrong, and Osamu feels his gut twist with guilt. He’s definitely being childish about this, which is stupid. He’s the mature one, the responsible one. Atsumu’s always been the one to act without thinking things through, Atsumu’s the one who doesn’t know rationality.

 

            He should text Semi back.

 

            Instead, he pockets his phone and goes to practice.

 

* * *

 

 

            It isn’t really surprising that Semi manages to corner him. He knows Osamu’s schedule just as well as Osamu knows his. A direct result of spending nearly every spare moment together.

 

            He’s getting out of practice, exhausted after a shower that wasn’t nearly long enough, a definite bruise forming on his side from making an awkward dive to receive one of Sakusa’s spikes. Akaashi is walking next to him, voice low as he talks about his math course. He doesn’t register Akaashi stopping until he’s already gone a few steps ahead, and he glances up from his phone to see Semi waiting outside the gym doors, lips twisted in a scowl as he looks off at something to the side.

 

            “Hey Akaashi—“

 

            “Whatever you’re avoiding, I want no part in it,” Akaashi says, immediately cutting Osamu off. “You already ditched him for lunch to eat with me and Kenma. I’m not asking why, I’m just not going to let you make whatever it is worse.”

 

            “When did you turn into my mother?” Osamu mutters.

 

            “Don’t call me that.” Akaashi pushes the doors open and promptly shoves Osamu in Semi’s direction. “Be on time for practice tomorrow morning.”

 

            “Yes, mother.”

 

            “Don’t.”

 

            Osamu doesn’t get a chance to say more, because Semi looks over then, gaze softening from irritated to something more concerned, possibly anxious, and the words catch in his throat.

 

            “You okay?” Semi asks, slow and careful. Osamu nods. He’s waiting for Semi to ask why he’s been avoiding him all day, why he ditched him last night, but what comes out instead is, “Can we talk?”

 

            Those are the last words Osamu wanted to hear.

 

            Still, he nods, follows a half-step behind Semi as he starts walking towards the dorm building. He mulls over what Semi could possibly want to talk about, but he keeps landing on the same thing: _he knows_. Semi knows how Osamu feels about him, he’s going to tell him to back off, that he’s interested in the girl who confessed to him yesterday. None of the other possibilities are much better, really — they all end with Semi telling Osamu to get lost, because that’s kind of what _we need to talk_ means.

 

            Semi pulls him into his dorm, double checks that Shirabu’s gone, and stops to stand right outside the bedroom doorway. Osamu tries to feel comfortable leaning against the wall opposite, but his heart is in his throat and _Semi knows Semi knows Semi knows._

 

            “Um,” Semi says, hands twisting in the hem of his sweater. “I, uh. I’m—“

 

            “I’m sorry,” Osamu cuts in. He figures, it’s probably better to just get it over with. Rip off the band-aid and move past it. The sooner it’s done, the sooner he can go wallow in his own self-pity.

 

            Semi’s head tilts to the side, and Osamu’s heart clenches. “For what?”

 

            “I . . . I mean, you know . . .” Osamu can’t find the words to say it. Even though Semi already knows — there’s no way he doesn’t at this point — he still can’t bring himself to say it.

 

            Semi saves him from having to do it. “I should be the one apologizing,” he says. “I made it awkward, I thought, you know, that it was fine. But Atsumu came to talk to me and—“

 

            “What?”

 

            “Atsumu . . . came to talk with me. Did you not know?” Semi’s eyebrows furrow, and Osamu can’t stop his lips from pulling down in confusion because _what is he talking about?_ “I . . . He just. Let me know that you don’t feel the same way, and I don’t really know how he _knew_ , because I tried to keep it hidden — I didn’t this to come between us and ruin our friendship—“

 

            Osamu only grows more and more confused as Semi starts talking about moving on, words tumbling out as he rambles the way he always does when he’s worked up over something, and _what is going on?_

 

            “Semi. Semi, wait. I don’t— What are you talking about?” He thought Semi was talking about Osamu’s feelings, but the words aren’t making sense and his mind is spinning and he’s never been quite this aware of his own heartbeat.

 

            Semi’s cheeks burn red and he turns his gaze to the floor. Osamu needs to hear the words, needs to hear everything laid out and cleared up and—

 

            “My, um. My feelings, for you.”

 

            It feels a little like the world is tilting.

 

            “And, I just. I know you don’t feel the same way, Atsumu made that very clear. It’s fine, I just—“

 

            Osamu can barely choke the words out above a whisper. “You like me?”

 

            Semi . . . likes him. Semi shares the same feelings Osamu has for him, and this can’t be happening, it can’t, this is some twisted dream or _something_ because Semi couldn’t possibly—

 

            “I. Thought it was obvious. I thought you _knew_.” Osamu’s seen Semi puzzled over textbooks and memory games they’ve played at two in the morning, but this is a whole new level of confusion written across his face.

 

            “I thought— I thought you were going to tell me you knew about _my_ —“

 

            There’s a beat, and Semi’s shoulders drop and his face falls into his hands, and Osamu can’t believe what’s happening.

 

            “You pulled your hand away! What was I supposed to think?” Semi cries, voice muffled in his palms.

 

            “I panicked! I was upset and— and you were getting _asked out_ —“

 

            “I didn’t say yes! Your brother’s the one who told me to move on—“

 

            “You _know_ Atsumu’s an idiot who needs to keep his mouth shut—“

 

            Semi breaks into lilted laughter, something more hysterical than Osamu’s used to hearing, and he crosses the few feet there are between them to bury his face in Osamu’s chest, shoulders still shaking, and Osamu lets out a disbelieving laugh as he wraps his warms around Semi and lets his chin rest on the top of Semi’s head.

 

            “We’re stupid,” Semi murmurs.

 

            “Oh, absolutely.”

 

            “Your brother’s an idiot.”

 

            “This is not news.”

 

            “Oh my god. I can’t believe— I’ve spent all day thinking you were pissed that I have _feelings_ for you.”

 

            “Yes, Semi, I’m clearly so mad about that.”

 

            Semi pulls back to glare at Osamu, who only snorts and pulls him back in. Ridiculous. Absolutely, completely _ridiculous_.

 

* * *

 

**semisemieita                      4h**

[1 Image]

_Liked by sugakou, tendersatori, and 453 others_

**semisemieita** : we’re dating, i guess?

 **acegoshiki** : you weren’t before???

 **sugakou** : i thought you already were

 **tendersatori** : eita-kun, you’ve been in a relationship this whole time

 **kingkawa** : this isn’t news?

 

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            It’s just past ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, and Osamu’s sitting on his bed reading his book, Semi between his legs with his back against Osamu’s chest while he scrolls through Instagram notifications. The rain is soft against the window and everything is slow and lazy and there’s a fuzzy, happy feeling rooted in Osamu’s chest at the whole of it.

 

            It’s just past ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, and Semi’s tilting his head back to pout over how everyone else knew they were dating before _they_ did, and Osamu can’t keep himself from smiling when he leans in to kiss his boyfriend, soft and sweet and slow, because he’s allowed to.

 

            It’s just past ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, and if Osamu had to label it, he’d say he’s definitely a little in love with Semi Eita.

 

            It’s just past ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, and everything is more than fine.


	2. Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Osamu waits in line at the café he and Eita go to every morning with his head on Eita’s shoulder, mumbling over how tired he is and _what’s the point of you even getting coffee if it’s eighty-percent sugar?_ He rests his chin in his hand when they sit, and watches with this soft, sleepy look on his face while Eita tries to take a picture, and most of the time, Eita has a hard time resisting taking a picture of him as opposed to what he _intended_ to snap a photo of.
>> 
>> Eita is probably something like in love with him.
> 
>   
> Semi Eita is a little bit in love with Miya Osamu. It's not mutual, probably. 

**osaamu                     8m**

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_Liked by applepi, miyatsumu, and 14 others_

**osaamu** : he hasn't touched his breakfast because he's too busy trying to take a picture of it

 **semisemieita** : i don't need this

 **tendersatori** : @semisemieita your sweater. is the worst thing i've ever seen

 **sugakou** : oh wow, oh wo w, semi eita??? ignoring everything to get the perfect shot????? this is shocking. truly groundbreaking. i need to go sit down, i don't know how to handle this

 **semisemieita** : @tendersatori @sugakou i hate both of you so much

 

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            Miya Osamu is something subtle. He prefers actions over words, always wrinkles his nose when Semi orders his overly sweet coffee in the mornings, bounces lightly on his toes while they wait in line before seeing a movie he’s excited for. He doesn’t match his socks and he color-codes his notes with different highlighters.

 

            Osamu waits in line at the café he and Eita go to every morning with his head on Eita’s shoulder, mumbling over how tired he is and _what’s the point of you even getting coffee if it’s eighty-percent sugar?_ He rests his chin in his hand when they sit, and watches with this soft, sleepy look on his face while Eita tries to take a picture, and most of the time, Eita has a hard time resisting taking a picture of him as opposed to what he _intended_ to snap a photo of.

 

            Eita is probably something like in love with him.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Here’s the thing, right,” Eita says as he rolls his empty coffee cup between his palms, “is it wouldn’t even be that difficult to take care of. Shirabu’s just a lazy bitch.”

 

            Osamu pins Eita with a look, and Eita scowls back. He knows he’s going to bring up the cactus, even though it wasn’t even Eita’s _fault_ that it died. He _knows_ Shirabu murdered it, fully intentionally, all because Eita _may_ have eaten the rest of his shitty kale chips.

 

            “You couldn’t care for a cactus, what makes you think you can keep an orchid alive?” Osamu says.

 

            “Can’t you support me just once?” Eita replies. Osamu pushes up from the table. Eita follows. “That’s all I ask for.”

 

            Osamu snorts and glances over his shoulder at Eita. “ _All_ you ask for? What about driving you to that art gallery next week? Or those cheap chocolates you always want from the corner store?”

 

            “Don’t get smart. Bastard.”

 

            Eita falls into step beside Osamu as he heads out of the café. Osamu keeps his hands swinging at his sides as he walks, and sometimes his hand will brush against Eita’s, and Eita’s heart will jump in his chest like he’s thirteen again and still crushing on the girl in his art club. It’s stupid, how much he likes Osamu, and he doesn’t even know when it _started_. He knows that he sat next to Osamu in their shared literature class, just because he kind of recognized him from Nationals, knows that he started talking to him because he always seemed nice (or at least, not an asshole like his brother), and had a ghost on his shirt and a bright pink band-aid on his cheek, and how could Eita resist that? He knows that he’s best friends with Osamu, has been best friends with him since around the time they got stuck in the library for half the night because of a freak snowstorm. But the _feelings_. He’s not sure if they’ve been there the whole time, or if they’re a more recent thing, brought on by something like the time a couple months back that Osamu _tackled_ him in a hug after a won volleyball game.

 

            He doesn’t know when he started falling for Osamu like this. Just that he think his heart might burst with affection when Osamu laughs, all breathy and low and sweet when he sees an advertisement in a shop window that has a terrible pun printed across it.

 

            Eita looks away.

 

            Osamu waits when Eita wants to take a picture of a park bench, because it’s got this rustic look and would probably look really nice in the rain. He tells Osamu as much, to which Osamu replies that he should’ve taken the opportunity last week where it rained constantly. Which, to be fair, he’s _right_ , but they didn’t even come this way last week, and it’s not like it’s Semi’s fault that Osamu couldn’t handle getting a little wet to take the detour.

 

            But the thing about Osamu is, he probably would’ve done it, no hesitation, if Eita had actually asked him. Because Osamu is always saying _yes_ to Eita, always ready to agree with even his most ridiculous requests. Eita’s always been there for Osamu, and Osamu’s always been there for him. It’s why Eita is at Osamu’s door on early mornings where they don’t have time to go to a café for a good breakfast, to give him a cheap bagel and his favorite coffee, and why — when Eita gets distracted by a positively hideous lamp he _has to have_ in an antique shop across the street, Osamu grabs Eita’s jacket sleeve, to keep him from walking into traffic.

 

            He kind of wishes Osamu would’ve just grabbed his hand instead.

 

            He turns to look back at Osamu, insists he wasn’t going to just walk out into the street without looking.

 

            Osamu knows him better than that. “You sure about that?” He looks over at the antique shop, and Eita grins. Osamu probably knows him better than anyone.

 

            “‘Course I’m sure.” He looks back to the traffic lights, waiting for the signal that says it’s safe to cross. It’s either focus on that, or get hung up on the fact that Osamu is still kind of holding his sleeve. “You’d never let me.”

 

            It’d probably be nice, to hold Osamu’s hand. He gets close to it, on weekends before volleyball matches, where Osamu insists Eita tape his fingers for him. Osamu has a bad habit of screwing them up, and he always insists Eita does a better job at taping. Osamu’s hands are rough and calloused the way Eita’s used to be, before he stopped playing, and half the time, all Eita can think about is what it might be like to slide his fingers into the empty gaps between Osamu’s, to properly hold his hand.

 

            He never does it.

 

            Osamu tugs at Eita’s sleeve before dropping his hand back to his side. “Come on, crosswalk’s clear.”

 

            He starts walking again. Eita follows.

 

* * *

 

 

**osaamu                     48m**

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_Liked by akakei, shitabu, and 26 others_

**osaamu** : probably karma

 **miyatsumu** : fuck you. fuck you

 **shitabu** : GOOD

 **kingkawa** : he deserves it

 **semisemieita** : if atsumu's getting spiked in the face i should really start coming to your practices

 

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            Realistically, it’s probably something that started when they were studying for their literature final, holed up in the library late one night. Osamu had given up on trying to read his notes, instead opting to watch Eita with his cheek in his hand and looking like he’d much rather be asleep in his dorm. It’s probably something that started when Osamu asked Eita why he quit volleyball, why he didn’t bother trying out for the university team when he could’ve made it, given what Osamu knew about him. Osamu’s always been quiet, even more so when they’d first started being friends; and he’s always been a good listener. So as Eita told him about being dropped as Shiratorizawa’s starting setter, and about the one year they _didn’t_ go to Nationals, and about how he’s always loved art more anyway, Osamu nodded along. He didn’t tell him it was a stupid choice like Shirabu had, didn’t tell him he was throwing away a golden opportunity. He only offered a tired half-smile and told him his pictures of ceramic lemons were just as good as his serves anyway, and a thought settled in at the back of Eita’s mind that Osamu’s smile was kind of cute.

 

            And now Eita’s dropping by Osamu’s room in the mornings to walk with him to breakfast and class, even though their schedules don’t really line up so well. He’s always buying cherries when he goes for groceries because Osamu loves them, and he’s started to find it endearing when Osamu pulls the covers over his head on early mornings and groans about how it’s too early to be alive. His fingers itch for a camera when they’re walking to breakfast and Osamu’s hair is still kind of a mess from sleep, and he could probably drown in the sound of his laugh.

 

            “You’re so fucking gross,” Shirabu tells him as he pulls on a jacket. “You know you used to just post a shitton of pictures of your art? And now it’s all Osamu.”

 

            Eita stops messing with his zipper to look up at Shirabu. “It’s all still art.”

 

            There’s a pause, and then Shirabu’s wrinkling his nose and pushing Eita towards the door. “That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said. Shut the fuck up. Jesus, go, I can’t do this with you.”

 

            Eita grins, fighting back a laugh. “Have you forgotten about the time you told Goshiki—”

 

            “ _Goodbye_ , Eita.”

 

            Eita snorts a laugh when Shirabu slams the door behind him, effectively kicking him out of the dorm and locking him out in the hall. He’s probably right. Eita’s probably so far gone for Osamu it’s _terrible_ , but he can’t find it in himself to mind. Not when Osamu offers a crooked smile when he sees Eita waiting for him outside the gym, not when he starts laughing over dinner about Atsumu getting hit in the face with one of Sakusa’s spikes. He’s gotta be something like in love with Osamu, for sure.

 

            He lets himself get distracted as they walk to the antique shop, feeling perfectly satisfied the whole time with the fact that Osamu didn’t even mention the fact that he never technically agreed to go, with the fact that Osamu pulls on his arm when he starts walking down the wrong street, too focused on a dog on the opposite corner.

 

            Osamu waits while Eita takes a picture of Oikawa’s shitty bike outside the antique shop, and when Osamu eventually heads inside, Eita follows.

 

            “You’re not serious,” Osamu says when he sees the lamp Eita’s spent half the day thinking about.

 

            Eita smiles back at him. “It’s charming.”

 

            “It’s awful.”

 

            “ _Part of the charm_ , ‘Samu. You just have poor taste.”

 

            “Think you’ve got that a little backwards.”

 

            But Osamu’s got that half-smile on his face, and Eita’s heart is doing that shitty _thing_ in his chest and it’s like, sometimes, Osamu makes him feel like he can’t fucking breathe.

 

            He ends up picking up some pens in addition to the lamp. None of them work, probably, but neither do most of the things Eita owns. He just likes to have them there. Likes when his room feels less empty.

 

            Shirabu’s probably going to kill him for the lamp.

 

            They’re walking out nearly an hour later, Osamu pushing the bike and Eita carrying everything he got from the antique shop, and it’s kind of cold and Eita kind of just wants to get back to his room so he can study with Osamu where it’s quiet and warm. So of course he gets stopped.

 

            The thing is, Eita’s more popular than he knows what to do with, and he can’t even explain _why_. But he has friends outside of his old volleyball team, has people who like to talk to him between classes, and all the baristas at his favorite café know his name. And it’s not like he minds. Sometimes it gets to be too much, too loud, too crowded, but he really does like all his friends. The problem is, there are also people asking for his number, asking for a date. People who stop him to confess to him. Which always makes him feel miserable, because he hates the feeling of saying _no_ , of turning people down, but he doesn’t really have another choice when he’s got these feelings for his best friend.

 

            So when a girl stops him halfway back to campus, there’s a sinking feeling in his gut, because he knows exactly what’s coming. She shares one of his design classes, has definitely been flirting with him for the last few weeks, and Eita hasn’t known what to say to make it stop without being rude.

 

            He offers a smile, asks how her project’s been going, and tells her that he’s been stuck on picking a color scheme for three days now. She laughs and smiles up at him and his stomach turns when she starts diverting the conversation to something entirely unrelated.

 

            “Um, I know this is probably kind of pointless, but I just really wanted you to know, I think you’re really sweet and pretty, and I kind of really like you, Semi-kun. It’s okay if you don’t return my feelings, I just thought, maybe I should say something.”

 

            Eita tries to smile, but there’s one part of it that keeps catching. “Pointless?”

 

            Her cheeks flush, and she glances over to where Osamu’s leaning against the side of an office building. “You know. With you and Miya-san . . .”

 

            And now it’s Eita’s turn to blush as he looks down at his feet, a nervous laugh escaping. “That obvious that I like him, huh?” He looks back up, feels a lot less bad about turning her down when he sees that she doesn’t even look the slightest bit disappointed.

 

            “Don’t be sorry, either,” she tells him. “It’s probably out of place for me to be doing this anyway. I’ll see you in class on Monday though, right? With whatever work of art you manage to come up with.”

 

            Eita grins. “Yours is going to be better. You’ve always got, like, the perfect layout, and the _colors_ on your last project—“

 

            He decides he doesn’t feel bad at all when she laughs, and he knows he’s not going to feel awkward about it come Monday, when they’re both sitting at the same table.   By the time she eventually walks away, with a “Good luck with Miya-san!” Eita’s feeling better than he did before she even stopped him.

 

            The only uncomfortable thing is walking the rest of the way back with Osamu, because he feels like he maybe shouldn’t talk about his classmate, unless Osamu asks, which he never does. He never wants to talk about confessions or dates or anything, and Eita always wonders if there’s something he dislikes about things like that, wonders if Osamu’s mad at him in some way every time, for being interrupted like that.

 

            He moves past it by the time they’re heading up to his dorm, in their regular, comfortable silence. It’s another thing he love about Osamu — he’s _quiet_. Eita’s other friends, for the most part, are talkative and loud and sometimes it’s too much. But Osamu’s quiet, he’s calm, he’s _comfortable_. Eita can very easily spend full days with him and feel nothing but warm inside.

 

            Love is definitely a thing he’s feeling.

 

            “Think Shirabu’ll notice if I replace his math books with the lamp?” Eita asks as he opens the door to his dorm.

 

            He’s not expecting Shirabu to still be around, considering he was supposed to meet with Kenma to study for an exam, and it catches him the slightest bit off guard when he responds, “I think Shirabu’ll kick your ass out of this fucking dorm if you even try it.”

 

            While Osamu goes to sit at the table that hasn’t been used for eating at since they got it, Eita pokes his head into Shirabu’s room, grinning.

 

            “The lamp’s hideous, right?”

 

            “It’s fucking awful. We don’t have room for it, stop doing this.”

 

            “I think it’s _delightful_.”

 

            “Whatever. Fuck you. Go study with your stupid boyfriend.”

 

            “Aw, Kenjirou, don’t be rude.”

 

            “Fuck you, fuck your lamp.”

 

            Eita laughs, goes to put the lamp and the pens back in his room before joining Osamu at the table. He should work on his design project, probably. His ankles keep bumping against Osamu’s as they work, a result of the fact that Eita can’t sit still to save his life. It’s something Osamu’s teased him about countless times, but also something that leaves them with all these brief little touches that send Eita’s heart going a little too fast. Things like hands brushing and knees knocking together and shoulders and elbows nudging against each other. Subtle things that are as close as Eita allows himself to get most days.

 

            He should probably tell Osamu how he feels.

 

            Just, not right now. Not when Eita looks up to find Osamu looking irritated, like something happened when he wasn’t looking. He tries to get his attention, tries his name a handful of times, but Osamu’s so spaced out he doesn’t even notice.

 

            So Eita reaches for his hand, just to tap it and get his attention.

 

            Osamu jerks away.

 

            He looks frustrated, and there’s definitely something wrong, but instead of telling Eita what it is, he pushes out of his chair and grabs his bag. He won’t even look at Eita as he tells him he has to go.

 

            “I— Are you alright? You just got here—“

 

            There’s a panic rising in Eita’s chest when Osamu says he’s fine, a pang in his heart when he makes for the door, heading away before he even really got there.

 

            Eita doesn’t follow.

 

* * *

 

 

**osaamu                     1h**

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_Liked by kingkawa, applepi, and 22 others_

**osaamu** : math is fucking dumb

 **sugakou** : math is part of your fucking major

 **miyaatsumu** : you’re fucking dumb

 **osaamu** : @miyaatsumu remember that time you failed geometry and i aced the class

 **miyaatsumu** : don’t

 

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            “Semi.”

 

            Eita looks up from the notes he’s been reviewing in the library all afternoon, to find Atsumu standing in front of him. He already knows something’s wrong, given the fact that Osamu’s definitely been avoiding him all day. But that’s kind of confirmed by the fact that Atsumu’s there, addressing Eita by his family name in the flattest tone Eita’s ever heard from him, looking vaguely pissed off.

 

            Something’s absolutely wrong.

 

            “Atsumu. Can I help you?”

 

            It’s not that Eita hates Atsumu. He’s not so bad, when it comes down to it. He can be nice and he has moments where he’s actually kind of thoughtful, but he’s also got this habit of giving back-handed compliments, and he can be a real asshole about little things. To put it simply, he’s in a grey area for Eita. It probably helps that Osamu generally likes him enough. If he didn’t, Eita actually _would_ hate Atsumu. But the twins get along. So he puts up with Atsumu, even when he’s kind of being a dick.

 

            Atsumu leans forward, his hands coming down on the table to hold him up. Somethings absolutely wrong, because Atsumu’s here looking vaguely pissed off and getting too close to Eita, and it’s definitely supposed to be threatening.

 

            “What do you want with my brother?”

 

            Of course it’s about Osamu. Atsumu wouldn’t be here if it weren’t. But hearing the words leaves his heart moving at an off pace.

 

            “What do you mean, what do I want with him?” Eita asks. There are a lot of things this could be leading to. Eita doesn’t really like any of them.

 

            “I mean, back off with whatever the hell it is you’re doing,” Atsumu says. “He’s been moping all morning, and I _know_ you’re the reason he came back upset last night. So just stop. I can guarantee he doesn’t appreciate it.”

 

            He’s gone after that, leaving Eita sitting there feeling like the floor is bottoming out beneath him. It’s not like he’s been incredibly discreet with his feelings for Osamu. Everyone’s apparently picked up on them, and so it should make sense that Osamu has him figured out now, too. It’s logical.

 

            It’s logical, and it _hurts_.

 

* * *

 

 

            He texts Osamu a few times throughout the day, but doesn’t get any response. He’s definitely avoiding Eita.

 

* * *

 

 

            He’s not ready to lose him. Even if there’s no chance of Osamu ever returning his feelings, Eita doesn’t want to lose him. He’s the first person Eita’s had that leaves him feeling content, that makes him calm. He doesn’t want to lose the one person who’s always willing to go along with whatever stupid ideas Eita comes up with, who spends so much time looking out for him that Eita’s not sure what to do without him. He isn’t ready to lose the mornings tucked into the corner booth at the café or the late evenings where they’re both curled up in Osamu’s bed watching movies that always leave Eita laughing or crying or, usually, both.

 

            The thought that Osamu doesn’t want him anymore is terrifying. It’s terrifying and painful and everything Eita can’t stand to think about.

 

            There’s no choice but to talk to him now. He knows when Osamu’s practice is over, because they both know each other’s schedules by heart at this point, so he waits outside the gym at the end of the night, too cold and tired and anxious.

 

            He should’ve done a better job of hiding his feelings. He should’ve learned to just move on, to ignore the little glimmer of hope that maybe Osamu liked him back.

 

            When Osamu comes walking out of the gym with Akaashi at his side, Eita straightens up. He has too many questions to work through right now. He wants to know if he did something wrong, wants to ask why exactly Osamu’s been avoiding him all day, just in case it’s not for the reason Eita thinks it is.

 

            But instead, he does what he has to do, and asks, “Can we talk?”

 

            Osamu nods, and he walks with Eita up to his dorm, which is, thankfully, empty. He’s not sure what he’d do if Shirabu were here to witness this.

 

            He can barely look at Osamu. His hands twist in his sweater, and the thought that _he knows he knows he knows_ keeps playing in his head. He’s a stammering mess as he tries to figure out how to get out the words he needs to say, but Osamu cuts him off.

 

            “I’m sorry.”

 

            And that’s not exactly what Eita was expecting. “For what?” Maybe he means to apologize for avoiding him all day, or for bolting out last night, which he shouldn’t be sorry for. It’s Eita’s fault for messing everything up.

 

            “I mean . . . you know,” Osamu says. He won’t meet Eita’s eyes.

 

            _He knows he knows he knows—_

 

            “I should be the one apologizing,” Eita cuts in. “I made it awkward, I thought, you know, that it was fine. But Atsumu came to talk to me and—“

 

            “What?”

 

            And . . . did Osamu not know? Surely, he had to. Surely, he knew that his brother had come to tell Eita to back off, to move on. And Eita knows he’s rambling as he tries to get this out to Osamu, tries to explain that this isn’t what he wanted, that he didn’t want his feelings to come between them as friends, and—

 

            “What are you talking about?” Osamu’s voice sounds strangled, and oh. Oh, no. Maybe he really doesn’t know, maybe he has no idea what’s going on and he’s been avoiding Eita for some completely different reason and this is about to get so much worse than it already is.

 

            He can feel his cheeks burning as he looks to the floor. “My, um. My feelings, for you.” He can’t breathe, and this time it’s got nothing to do with how much he likes Osamu. “I know you don’t feel the same way, Atsumu made that very clear.” And it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s not Osamu’s fault that Eita’s in love with him.

 

            “You like me?”

 

            _He doesn’t know._

 

            And now he feels like everything is definitely fucked, and he’s going to lose Osamu right here and now, and _he didn’t even know about—_

 

            “I thought you _knew_.”

 

            “I thought— I thought you were going to tell me you knew about _my_ —“

 

            This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. There’s no way things got this screwed up. Osamu practically _rejected_ him.

 

            Eita’s face falls into his hands and it takes everything he has not to scream.

 

            _He doesn’t hate me._

 

            He crosses the narrow space between them, burying his face in Osamu’s chest as he laughs, unable to stop himself. There’s no way. There’s _no way._

 

            He can feel Osamu shaking with laughter as he wraps his arms around Eita, pulling him in closer. This is ridiculous. Completely.

 

            _He likes me back_.

 

* * *

 

 

**osaamu                     2h**

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_Liked by sugakou, acegoshiki, and 56 others_

**osaamu** : i guess. we’re dating?

 **tendersalami** : we know

 **sugakou** : congrats on finally figuring it out

 **akakei** : we already knew this

 **kingkawa** : news to absolutely no one

 

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            Osamu is something steady. When Eita’s shifting every two minutes to try and find a more comfortable position in Osamu’s bed, Osamu is staying where he is, calmly reading his book, one hand continuing to run through Eita’s hair. He’s warm and comfortable and the moment it started raining that morning, he got this teasing smile on his face because he _knew_ Eita was excited to hear it against the window.

 

            Osamu won’t stop _touching_ Eita, not since they sorted everything out. There’s always a hand in his hair or around his waist, or they’re sitting so close their legs are pressed together, and Eita _loves_ it. What Eita loves _most_ is Osamu smiling when Eita glances up from his phone to look at him, and leaning in to kiss him, soft and slow.

 

            Eita is in love with him. Indisputably.

 

            And everything is fine.


End file.
